Mixed Signals
by MatildaHummingbird
Summary: Detecive Carlton Lassiter gets dragged to a bar, where he meets Shawn. This is hell right? It has to be! SHASSIE (as always). The genre's say humor and romance, but maybe a little mystery will get thrown in if I feel up to it later!


**A/N: **It's been awhile since I've posted, and yes. I still have to finish The Cop, The Psychic, and The Banker. However I've developed a bit of writer's block and when the block finally smashed. I had this idea instead. I hope you like it! Because honestly I do, and that's why I'm posting it.

Enjoy!

~Matilda.

**Fat Chicks**

Detective Lassiter had to remember how to breathe, and soon. It did not seem to be happening however, and Spencer -god dammit Spencer. Spencer was staring at him with a cocky little grin; they stood less than a foot apart. At one point, after Spencer had turned around he had said something but Lassiter could not hear him -at all.

"Lassie?" Shawn tried again in a more firm voice. However as soon as the word had left Shawn's mouth, Santa Barbara's head detective fainted. "Lassie!" Shawn moved to catch the detective on his way down. Everything was going dark. Good. Let it go dark. Then the detective could properly reflect on how he got into this stupid situation to begin with.

It might have had something to do with how pushy O'Hara could be.

Carlton Lassiter's head turned back time roughly three hours prior to him fainting. Three hours prior he had been sitting at his desk at the station, a pen in hand, and he was just finishing out the details of a pretty gruesome arrest report. His next step would be to hand it into the Chief. Then! He could go home. He was just about finished doting down his last period when a small shadow loomed over his desk.

"Come have a drink with me."

O'Hara had been bugging him all week to let loose a little. It seemed there had been talk around the station that Detective Lassiter was becoming a bit of a hermit. The rumours didn't really bother Lassiter, mainly because they were _kind of_true. However O'Hara seemed to think that the rumours just meant that Carlton was lonely, and she had been trying all week to be more of a friend during off hours. It was actually getting annoying.

"I'm not going out tonight."

"Oh come on Carlton!" O'Hara begged. "I know you drink beer."

"Correct. Either in the comfort of my own home, or at a quiet bar - AWAY from the people I spend most of my week with."

"One drink." O'Hara pressed.

Lassiter looked up and frowned at his co-worker. Truthfully O'Hara was a lovely creature. At work she was as sharp as a knife, and most of the men agreed she wasn't bad to look at either. However the second she decided she wanted to be your friend? That pretty blonde head turned into a wrecking ball, a wrecking ball that wouldn't stop until your walls came crumbling down and you stepped into her whim.

"I just want to go home." Carlton spoke honestly. "Nothing on you -I promise...What can I do to make you leave me alone?"

Within the hour Carlton was sitting in a bar across from O'Hara.

"See?" O'Hara tried to show him. "This is good, right here. There's nothing weird about us in a bar. Just two co-workers, having a nice platonic beer. This is how partners are supposed to work."

"Really now?"

"Yes."

"Now why do you think that?"

"No reason." O'Hara flushed a bit and looked away.

"O'Hara."

"Drink your beer Carlton! We're having fun!"

Alright. Screw this, something was up. "O'Hara why are we really here?"

"Okay." The other detective broke. "I wanted to beat Shawn and Gus."

Whoa - what? Since when? Wanting to beat Shawn and Gus was Carlton's beef, not O'Hara's. "Spencer and Guster? Why?" Carlton was getting to the bottom of this sudden odd behaviour.

"They're best friends." O'Hara explained. "I mean, I know Shawn has that whole psychic thing going for him, but that can't be the only reason he beats us at cases. He needs Gus, they work together, they do EVERYTHING together. I just think, if we hung out, and got in each other's head's a bit, and acted a little more like they did, we'd work together better as work partners." By the time she finished talking, Juliet's voice had dropped to almost a whisper. This caused Carlton to shake his head.

"Unbelievable."

"It was worth a try!" Juliet exclaimed. "You have to admit, you're getting sick and tired of being beaten too."

Carlton had to bite his tongue. Damn she was right. But everyone already knew that. Though truthfully, Carlton had gotten to the point where he barely cared anymore. He had come to accept the hard fact that Spencer was going to be a pain in his ass for a very long time to come. The only solace Carlton carried in that notion was that maybe crime would start going down. But part of him doubted it. Heck, ever since Spencer came along serial killers seem to just jump out of the wood work. Seriously. After Spencer jumped into the scene there hasn't been a single black and white case, everything got weird and complicated! Huh. You know what? Maybe O'Hara was onto something! Maybe she was right! Maybe, the key to bringing down Shawn was to act a little more social! Letting loose would free up space in his brain, give him more to think about, more puzzle pieces to solve! Screw you Spencer! Carlton then decided that Shawn was going down for good.

He also hadn't eaten since breakfast, so that beer while refreshing - was already having some effect on his brain. Regardless.

"O'Hara. Let's order another drink."

O'Hara suddenly smiled and clapped. Carlton Lassiter had a sudden feeling he might regret that sentence.

Three drinks later and he totally forgot about it. Hanging out with O'Hara was actually fun. She laughed at his stupid jokes, he laughed at her trying to be funny - or was it vice versa? In either case. At some point, O'Hara got drunk enough to decide that in order to be a good PLATONIC best friend, she would then need to act as a wingman.

"I don't need to get lucky." Carlton argued. "I thought we just came out to have beers and beat Spencer."

"We are beating Shawn!" O'Hara explained. "We're going to have so much fun this weekend, then come Monday when we get our next case handed to us, we'll invite Shawn to watch, and he can watch us solve it first because we're best friends and we win!"

O'Hara was clearly drunk. "Carlton! What about that blonde over there?" O'Hara pointed, and Lassiter followed her hand to a woman who was -respectively- not Lassiter's type. However. He too was a little tipsy, and the denial didn't come out as eloquent as it could've.

"Hell no, she looks like she ate a house."

"You're SO mean!" O'Hara laughed. "I bet she's really nice."

"Maybe, but I don't want to find out."

"Fine." O'Hara laughed and started looking again for another female to point out to Lassiter.

The next hour was spent with O'Hara pointing out women that Carlton just shook his head. Truth be told. It was VERY rare that a member of the opposite gender even caught the detective's eye. However that was a secret he would take to his grave if he could help it. Yes -some women were tolerable, and not too shabby in bed - he was married after all. However Carlton liked to believe that his divorce marked the end of his romantic life and he could go on to do great things and die doing something really heroic!

Though maybe O'Hara was onto something? He was divorced a long time ago, and other officers had started to talk. Not that he feared any speculation of his orientation would cost him his job, he just hated being stared at like he might grow a second head. With another moment of thought Carlton then decided to scout the place for the least offensive looking woman and approach her, just to prove to O'Hara that he wasn't a hermit, and to everyone else that he wasn't gay. Carlton's search lasted roughly thirty seconds.

Holy shit. You could bounce a quarter off at ass.

Carlton Lassiter was coming out of the closet as completely straight. The woman he spotted across the room - oh my god. She had her back turned, but her shape alone was enough make Carlton hard. Shoulder length chestnut hair fell down in beautiful waves. A red dress hugging hips and covering the tightest ass Carlton had ever wanted to jump on. -With respect.

The woman was a bit shorter, but those red heels she wore made her legs look like they could go for miles.

"O'Hara -be right back." Lassiter didn't recognize his own voice, it was already filled with hungry, overpowering lust. He felt himself moving across the room. Straightening his tie and spraying his mouth to hide the alcohol on his breath. He did not stop until he was about a foot behind the woman. He opened his mouth to speak, his lips formed a ready to say 'hello', but then...Lassiter took notice of the man who had been sitting beside this Goddess the entire time. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Guster-what are you doing here?"

"Detective Lassiter?" Gus looked up from his drink surprised.

"Lassie?" The Goddess lifted her head.

Carlton blinked. Did the Goddess in red just call him Las-sie? ...It took a second for that to sink in.

OH DEAR GOD NO!

"Lassie!" Shawn turned around, the wig he wore having matched his natural hair color perfectly. "W- what are you doing here?"

Lassiter couldn't speak. Or move. Or breathe. He couldn't remember how to breathe. This was it. Carlton Lassiter had died and gone to hell. He was in hell, and in hell Spencer wore cocktail dresses and made you doubt every decision you've ever made in your life -ever. The world around Lassiter started to melt, and as he fell to the ground, the world thankfully went dark, and he was able to reflect on how he got in this situation. As he hit the ground, Carlton Lassiter came to two riveting conclusions about all of this.

Number 1 - Satan was indeed real, and Number 2? - He should've just hit on the fat chick.

None of this would be happening if he had just hit on the fat chick!


End file.
